- I’m ready to kill the dogs. Seriously, kill them. Shadow peed twice in the house today, Darcy pulled down our blinds in the kitchen window, and Smokey took all of 2 minutes to cover himself with cold, red, sloppy mud during a quick potty break. I’ve cleaned everything up as best I can; as far as the murders go, I’ll sleep on it. That way I won’t make any rash decisions, and I’ll give myself plenty of time to come up with a good spot for the burials.
- I’m also contemplating shaving the dogs and washing them in a bleach bath, although to be honest, I’m not even sure that would take the stench away; our dogs could sit in a rainbow bubble with Jesus Christ himself and still stink to high heaven. Maybe if they’d stop fucking licking themselves–their dog slobber from their dog breath spread all over their dog hair can’t be helping matters much.
- Mia and I have enjoyed playing a twisted little game we call "Ultimate Rabid Monkey Lockdown"…freaking ALL DAY LONG. It involves an old belt of Caleb’s, a broken cell phone, a mad man, and a bad little monkey. I’m ready to move on to Legos or something; I had to hide the belt after the first 1000 rounds of the game, but there’s really no stopping Mia when she’s feeling a little primative.
- My sister Katie, God bless her, shipped out some late Christmas presents last week. She apologized for not sending them at the proper time (read: almost a month ago). I wasn’t really worried about it and I actually felt a little bad that she had bought us anything at all…but I must admit, opening packages, in the depressing time that is the dead middle of January, gave me a huge thrill. And the pumpkin spice candle she sent is working as much magic as it can against the odor of dog that permeates my entire house.
- Cheyenne’s got a gross cough. I sent her to school this morning, which was an obvious mistake; she sounded absolutely horrible before she went to bed this evening, and, worse than that, after I hugged her good-night, that scheming little girl kissed me smack on the lips! SHIT! WHAT THE HELL? She doesn’t do that any other normal night, but the one time when I’m in actual danger of coming down with something nasty, she–OOPS!–unthinkingly lays one on me. Time to shift into "Bitch-Mommy" mode so that my sick kid will love me less. Geez.
- I, for some reason, felt the need to clean my kitchen ever-so-thoroughly tonight; I watched "Secrets That Sell" on the Home and Garden Network and now I’m obsessed with having clutter-free countertops. Why wait until I want to get rid of the house to make my kitchen beautiful? If I just leave it in its constant state of ew, then I’m more inclined to want to sell this place; No. I’m going to enjoy my newfound counterspace while I’m still living here…and while I don’t have a screaming baby demanding the energy that would otherwise be going to tooth-brush cleaning the tile backsplash.
And I’m spent. I was going to mention something in reference to an article on MSN about little girls hating their looks; but in every example they gave, the mother was pretty much behind their kid’s self-loathing attitude. 2 words: Who gives a flying fuck how you look? Okay, wait, those weren’t the 2 words. Here: INNER BEAUTY. Sure, I tell my girls that they’re pretty…from time to time. They are, right? But way, way more importantly, they’re smart. They’re hilarious. They’re sweet and kind and honest and I make sure they hear it everyday. And even though it’s hard to remember, especially in reference to myself, those are the things that matter the most about a person.
That is all.